It is really hard to take a good picture of a piece of clothing while you’re wearing it, especially if the only camera you have is your cell phone. All the tutorials start out with, “Go buy a tripod and a remote.” But apparently I love a challenge.

You know what else I love? This skirt. So much. Even if I can’t hold my cell phone far enough away to get more than a third of it in the shot and still be able to press the shutter button.

It helps that this skirt began with me utterly falling in love with the fabric. This is some Valorie Wells Wrenly Wren cotton voile that I saw years ago on Fabric.com. I tried to be sensible. I had no immediate use for it, and I couldn’t afford it. Time after time I resolutely closed the browser window, determined to be sensible. And still I found myself drawn back again to the bright colors, the delightful birds, the breezy, cool luxury implicit in the word “voile.” In the end I gave in and bought exactly two yards of the precious stuff.

It sat in my fabric stash for years. Every spring I would decide to make it up for an Easter skirt, but every Easter it remained uncut while I wore something else. This year I finally did it. I used a wrap skirt tutorial from Weekend Designer (a now defunct fashion sewing design blog that still has some amazing stuff in its archives). I lined it with cotton/poly blend batiste edged with lace. I finished the bottom edge with hand-rolled hems, both to get as much length out of the fabric as possible, and as a way to get lots of practice with the technique before I used it on another project.

I faced the tie with the same batiste as the lining, and notched the ends because: pretty. The high waist is interfaced with some super stiff mystery stuff (it was in a basket of fabric Indy gave me) so that it won’t fold over or slide down, or turn into an unsightly, wrinkled mess. After Mass and several hours of Family Brunch on Sunday I can safely say it doesn’t, though having something rather unyielding wrapped around your ribs does mean you sit up very straight.

One of my favorite parts, however, is this:

The waist band is hiding something.

It’s a pocket! You never would know it was there, but it’s big enough for my cellphone, a pen, some money, and still have room for my car keys. I put it in using the instructions from the Red Velvet dress from Sewing Cake. It’s like my own happy little skirt secret.

I also made the shirt – it’s one of the work shirts I made last summer and never photographed. It’s hand sewn Alabama Chanin style from cotton rib knit using my standard t-shirt block.

The sleeves are finished with open Cretan stitch. Also, it turns out that it’s really hard to take pictures of your own upper arms.

The trim around the neck is strips of the same fabric which I shell-smocked. (I learned how from a Threads article.) After a year of machine washing and drying, it’s not as crisp as it used to be, but I still think it’s awful pretty. Of course, the one good picture I got has a loose thread in it. But I think I like it better than the other picture I got:

No, really, you’re supposed to be looking at the trim. I swear! Sigh.

The more I worked on this skirt, the more I loved it: the fabric so soft (like buttah!) and pretty, the lace lined edging like a little lovely secret, the high waist that turned out so unexpectedly flattering and chic. Knowing that I had drafted it myself (from a diagram), not to mention the couture techniques, some of which I was trying for the very first time, filled me with pride. As it neared completion, I decided that this garment, out of all the clothing pieces I’ve ever made, deserved a tag. I wanted to sign it like a masterpiece, or like a girl in the old days putting her own name in her sampler. A simple patch on the inside of the pocket, maybe, with my name and the date. For a while I debated over whether to embroider it or just use a fabric pen. And then, well, Pinterest happened.

That, my dears, is my garment tag: A mini whitework embroidery sampler. (30 kinds of embroidery stitches. No, really. I counted.) It says, “BernadettemefecitMay2014,” which means “Bernadette made me.” Because if you’re going to brag you might as well do it in Latin.

Yes, my dears, we have reached the point where I am showing off the thing I made to show off the other thing I made. And now the only thing left is to sew it inside the skirt pocket where no one will ever see it again except me.

Like this:

I’ve been working on the employee files at work all week, and I think the files were harder on my hands than the feral blackberry bushes I dug up out of the underbrush (which also contained wild rose bushes) and transplanted Monday. Some of those employee files have a mind of their own, especially the fat ones that have been sitting on the shelves accumulating matter for years and years, and that mind is not a kindly one. With the blackberry bushes, at least you can see ahead of time where the thorns are (pretty much anywhere that is not a root or a leaf) and prepare yourself. The files, though, attack without warning. And let me tell you, just because the chipboard covers are thick doesn’t mean they can’t still give you a wicked paper cut. It’s almost enough to make me glad I work just down the hall from an ER.

By now I ought to be used to my hands feeling like they’ve been used for a pincushion. I’ve been sewing a lot lately, which has been great for my work wardrobe, but hard on my hands. Still, it’s been worth it. The idea that I’m going to put together a work wardrobe that is almost completely me-made fills me with glee. I think this is partly because I hate the uniform I’ve had to wear for the past year so deeply. I can’t tell you how excited I am to get rid of it. I had been planning a celebratory bonfire once I got it completely replaced. Then one of the other ladies on my team told me that she plans to donate her old uniforms to Clothes That Work, and now I’m all conflicted. On the one hand, these old uniforms are ugly, and have seen over a year’s hard wear. Plus, I hate them, and I’d love to see them go up in flames. You wouldn’t want to pass that kind of bad karma on to some poor struggling job seeker, right? But on the other hand, they’re serviceable suits that might do very well to get someone through until they can afford something better, and donating them to a charity might transform the bad karma into something good. But still, a bonfire would be awfully fun. What do you guys think?

Another reason I love creating a me-made wardrobe is that there’s the deep satisfaction at taking something from an image in your head, through the planning and design, into the actual execution of the project, into the final, product: a piece of wearable clothing that was only a roll of fabric in the corner of my sewing machine only days ago. And it’s not just any piece of wearable clothing – it’s pretty, it’s made from high quality fabric, with extra attention to detail that you do not see in almost all ready made clothing, it fits my individual body exactly the way I want it to, and I did it all myself. It makes me want to go up to total strangers and coerce them into admiring my handiwork. I know that’s obnoxious, so I try to avoid it. Thankfully, so far my new things are have gotten enough compliments on their own, and then I can boost my ego even more by saying, “Thank you! I made it myself!”

So far I have one work top completed (short sleeve, Peter Pan collar), and another on the way, plus the pleated skirt I finished over Memorial Day weekend. I had initially planned to complete one new clothing item each week, but I quickly realized that this was a bit … ambitious. Still, even if it takes me two weeks to finish something instead of one, I’m still quickly acquiring a work wardrobe I actually enjoy wearing. My next project is a Hummingbird skirt in midnight blue cotton, and a Hummingbird top from midnight blue knit, plus a couple of the optional dickies in crisp white cotton. I also plan to make a Pavlova top from midnight blue knit (a lighter fabric than the knit I’m making the Hummingbird out of), and some simple shells from white cotton voile. And then we’ll see what comes after that. Ultimately I want to make a fabulous 1940s/1950s style suit jacket to round out my wardrobe, but I don’t know if my seamstress skills are quite up to that yet. Maybe I can work up to it.

Like this:

There is this dilemma I go through every time I wear something I made, especially if the item is newly completed. On the one hand, I want to show off shamelessly, demanding admiration not only for the comeliness of the item, but for the various obscure bits of seamstressly craft that went into its making. (This often requires educating my viewers about the nuances of garment construction so that they can properly appreciate, say, the exquisite stripe matching that they are gazing upon.) However, I know that this can be tedious, and while some people are happy to listen to me burble on about cable knitting bad-assery, or the minutiae of how I drafted the pattern for this top myself (and God knows I love those people with a deep and abiding passion that will never die), the vast majority of people really aren’t all that interested, and wish I would stop talking/showing off. And that’s ok. It takes all kinds to make a world, and I fully accept that one can be a perfectly good human being without having opinions about seam finishing techniques.

On the other hand, in our world, calling something homemade usually isn’t a compliment. It usually implies a lack of skill, poor design sense, and unfortunate material choices. Think of lumpy pillows with mismatched seams, or that dress made from stiff quilting cotton in a cutesy print that doesn’t fit right, so it has big wrinkles of fabric at the waist, an uneven hem, and a collar sewn on slightly askew so the wearer always looks like they’re walking slightly at a slant. That’s the kind of thing people usually think of when they think homemade. So often when someone takes one look at you and says, “Oh, did you make that?” it can be not entirely flattering.

This means that it can be a sort of hidden compliment when people don’t notice that you’re wearing something handmade – possibly implying that the quality of your workmanship is high enough that your items look as if they were made by professionals in a factory. Which, honestly, is a very sad commentary on modern standards of workmanship, since most factory-made items are pretty badly made compared to the work done by a competent home seamstress, but that’s a post for another day.

Ideally, the compliment you would most like to get is like the one I got this morning. Today I am wearing one of my 1950s skirts, a full, softly pleated design made from heavy Shetland wool in heathered china blue and gray, fully lined in black cotton batiste. I adapted it from the pattern I used for my bridesmaid dress for The Duchess’s wedding, so it has an interesting pocket detail in the front, and a deep hem which adds some sway to an otherwise rather heavy skirt. It is luxuriously warm, so it is one of my favorite skirts for winter. This morning I was getting something for an employee, when she exclaimed, “Oh, I love your skirt!” At which point I was able to say, “Why, thank you! I made it myself!”

However, moments like this can’t be produced on demand. Alas. So then I also get times like last Thursday when I wore my brand new sweatshirt cardigan, all gorgeously hand sewn Alabama Chanin style, sporting the first seperable zipper I had ever installed (the solution to a tricky design/fitting problem). My entire outfit was planned around that cardigan, with a jean skirt (which used to be a pair of too-long jeans until I changed it), a t-shirt I also modified myself, and socks & earrings that picked up the color of the cardigan. I was totally primed to show off. And then no one noticed. So then I had to decide – do I shamelessly point out that I have made most of what I am wearing, and demand that people admire me? Or do I take their not noticing for a sort of backwards compliment and keep mum? Except perhaps the fact that they didn’t notice means that my cardigan really isn’t as cute as I think it is, so maybe it isn’t a compliment after all… In the end I went for a combination. I pointed out my me-made cardigan to one of my closer friends, accepted her forced adulation, and let the rest go.

So what do you guys think? If I’m wearing something I’ve made myself, even if I’m immensely proud of it, should I tell people?

My vacation is now over, and all I have to show for it is a t-shirt. Well, a t-shirt and lots of pictures of my baby niece, most of them a little dark, cuz, well the whole vacation was a little dark. That’s what happens when you lose power just about as soon as you arrive, and don’t get it back… well, we never did get it back where we were. We had to go home to enjoy the benefits of electricity again.

It was ironic, since if only the place had electricity, it would have been perfect for our family vacation. A huge kitchen big enough for several people to cook at once, enough bedrooms that everyone could have a bed, and each family could have its own room, enough public spaces that you could get away from one another when you wanted privacy, but not so much that you couldn’t find other people when you were ready to hang out. A Eucharistic chapel right off the main rooms (perfect for blowing Jesus kisses as you went about your business), a living room with big couches, perfect for watching movies together, and an indoor pool. That pool was really our saving grace, as the temperature climbed every day, and there was no relief in sight. Even without electricity, it was pretty awesome.

The reason we had no electricity for as long as we were there was because we were part of the wide swath of eastern US that got its electrical grid taken out by the freak storm last Friday. There were over a million people without power, some without water either, which makes it hard to complain about little things like trying to figure out how to keep food for fourteen people from spoiling, and soothing a slightly cranky four month old who is too hot and doesn’t like it. By comparison, we did just fine, with a pool that saved our sanity, and general determination to just make things work.

If you asked me what I did on family vacation, well, when I did anything at all besides nursing my ankle like a good little gimp, I sewed. Not long ago I came to the realization that my wardrobe was in serious need of refurbishment. The last time I’d gotten any new clothes (besides my lovely, lovely polyester uniforms, which don’t count) was last fall when I was in sudden need of more professional apparel. While I had enough nice things for cooler weather, now that we’d entered the truly sultry part of the year, my wardrobe was looking pretty thin. And, being the crafting geek that I am, it didn’t occur to me to, say, start hitting the thrift stores or scoping out what was on offer at the mall. No, instead I bought fabric, and started planning sewing projects.

First there was a couple of pairs of pajama shorts (stripes matching ftw), and then one of my beloved full 50s style skirts (dark gray stretch cotton sateen), and then the pair of jeans that had always been too long for me that suddenly morphed into a skirt. I had plans for a spaghetti strap sun dress from the bold black & white print stretch cotton twill I got way too much of for $1 a yard, and more sleep shorts, and maybe even a camisole or two. But then I followed a link on a blog (not even sure which one anymore), and discovered the awesome hand-sewn knits of Alabama Chanin. And while there’s no way that I could ever afford one of her items (even if they came in my size), the website also offered books on how to make one for yourself. And you know, they weren’t that expensive. So I bought one, and when it arrived, found myself captivated by this whole new approach to sewing with knits. I wanted to try it, but I didn’t want to take the time to grade up one of the patterns that came with the book.

About the same time I found the free pattern for the Blank Canvas Tee, which conveniently already came in the size I needed. So this year when I headed off for family vacation, I brought with me a tote bag filled with a couple of yards of knit fabric from my stash, the printed off Blank Canvas Tee pattern, fabric shears, needle and thread. All weekend I sewed, and when I came home it was with a brand new shirt. And it’s a pretty sweet one. I modified the neckline to be more of a scoop neck, felled the seams to the inside, and used herringbone stitch on the neckline and armholes. I haven’t gotten around to embellishing it (I think some tasteful stenciling on the back of the right shoulder is in order), and I’m not completely satisfied with how the binding on the neck turned out (I think I needed to stretch the binding a little more when I was sewing it on), but all in all I’m very happy with it. It’s always a little bit of a miracle to me when a flat piece of fabric becomes a finished garment. This time it was extra amazing to see it grow under my hands from cut apart bits of cloth into a finished garment without using any machines on it whatsoever. I’m already planning another!

And now vacation is over for another year. This morning I got up way too early, rummaged through my clothes to find a clean uniform sweater (ask me how much laundry I did while I was off…) and one of my lovely polyester skirts, and headed back to work. It all felt a little surreal, as if I’d spent a month away instead of just a week. And then, as I was heading in to the building I heard reveille being blown on the base on the other side of the highway, and I knew that I was really back.

Like this:

Sunday afternoon when we were at the Family Homestead for St. Patrick’s day brunch (we had reubens: they are corned beef & cabbage, after all), Sae asked me if she could borrow some shirts. When she was buying her pregnancy wardrobe, she wasn’t counting on the ridiculously warm weather this year. So all her larger shirts are long sleeved, and geared towards keeping her warm in cold weather. Considering the current highs in the 70s, and realizing that she’s not going to immediately spring back into her pre-pregnancy shape for some time after this kid finally decides to join us in the sunshine, she needs a little wardrobe help.

I had coincidentally just packed up a big bag of stuff to take down to Goodwill, so I headed home to get it, plus a few other things I thought she might get some good use of. And now she’s got some well-washed swing dance shirts in her wardrobe, plus one of the t-shirts I inherited from Jacob, plus the Our Lady of Guadelupe t-shirt she originally gave me some years ago. And it was nice.

Sae is so ready to have this baby. Her official due date was Thursday, so now she’s overdue. Today while she was home, Mom brought out the bags of baby clothes she had stored, the very favorite things she’d saved through all her pregnancies, and kept for nineteen years since Boy-O grew out of them. She also brought out the christening gown that all of us were baptized in – a delicate embroidered thing of fine white batiste, with drawn thread work, and tiny white matching shoes. It was passed down on her side of the family, and hopefully will keep being passed down.

I wish that Big Brother’s son could be baptized in that gown too. I got to see pictures of him for the first time earlier this week. He is so sweet. (You can see for yourself on Indy’s blog.) He is also still missing a name, though the deadline is coming fast. So hopefully soon we’ll know his name.

Speaking of our expanding family, Boy-O is also adding to the family. He and his roommates have adopted a baby sugar glider. It’s also still waiting for a name, though Captain Nutters is a strong contender. I think even a sugar glider needs a better name than that. But it’s three young men and a baby sugar glider, which is about as ridiculously cute as a small marsupial can be. It’s also a recipe for a sitcom. I predict hijinks.

Sarah Whittle, coral stitch: You can use different thread thicknesses or change the angle of the knot to give different effects. Coral stitch can be used on straight or curved lines as well as being used as a textured filling stitch. When using as a filling stitch place the knots into spaces between the knots of the previous row .